The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1887-07-01
NUMBER "a.

lhSS naCn como bdch-
- Some folks as WAS at the house
walked the beach between the inlets with
me till late in the night: but we saw
nothin OF en-. But / didn't give em
up. 1t had been fine day, an it was n
clear, bright night, an kind o trusted
the young feller Next day early in the
mornin' we spied the boat sailin' up the
inlet, an 1 began wavin' and shoutin' TO
'em for Joy. But some one as had spy
glass said they wasn't abUard-an'-
ter-they wasn't.
I" The feller as was in her came from
the Jersey coast, an he said as man an
girl had landed there the day before
an the mana young, good-lookin chap,
he said-had paid him to bring the boat
over.
I'D KEEP. up pretty we'll till then,
but when | know'd she wasn't come
back, an felt all OF a sudden as II she
might never come back, l hid my face
in my hands an cried like a baby.
&" She was all the world 10 me, was
Maggie. took her TO me as child, an
brought her up. an set my heart on
her; an for her TO leave me in my old
days was mighty hard.
"When got quieted down they began
to comfort me a-sayin' as she might
come back. All, mister, II she only had
I'd have welcomed her, for she was still
my little Maggie, an I'd ha' loved her as
much as ever. But it got to be Winter
Fall an l heard nothin' OF her.
% II wasn't much more than a year
after she'd left when one mOrnin' q fel-
Ter came sailing over from the shore with
q telegram for me. It came from the
city, an il read that IL l was to go to
one O. the hospitals there, I'd find a
girl as would like to see me; an it told
me to come quick, too, for she was very
low perhaps a-dyin'.
:" Yer may know who the girl was; an
it's likely yer know, too, as 1 wasn't
long a-gettin to her. But l wasn't any
too soon. She was lyin' on cot. an
when she saw me, it was just all
she could do to stretch her arms out
to me, so she could put 'em around me
an press her poor, pale face against
mine.
-" Father she whispered, I went
back on yer-on yer who'd been so good
an kind to me an, father, l want yer to
say before 1 die as you've forgiven
me-
Il couldn't say nothin', mister, I just
held her closer. l held her till they
told me she couldn't speak no more,
an then laid her hack. 1t was only
few minutes after that She lived, but
afore she died she opened her eyes once
more an moved her lips. | bent down
TO her an she could just whisper:
a. Father I'm sure yer haven't gone
back on me. I'm sure Yer forgive me.
But-father-I want yer TO forgive him,
too. For-fathcr-I've forgiven-'
- 1 forgive her, mister, an I've tried
to forgive him. I'll try again, mister;
III try hard for the little girls sake. ]
know as his sins a-goin' to drive him
back here some tlme-drive him lnck
that nc may go on his knees to me an
tell M. h0w hr wrong Il her an me"
Tho man = voice broke in his emotion.
/ had always been fond OF Uncl..
Jake but after what he had told mc l
| that his " little girls death weighed
heavily on him; and SO after that
! / got up as many parties a. /
could TO visit the tavern and cheer him
| up.
One day toward Autumn. two years
Afterwards, in one Of my not infrequ"It
| visits to the tavern, Uncle Jake called
! me aside aud said: " Mister. its cctlin
kind o lonesome for the a.: an me
! down here Winters, an l guess L wont
stay here no longer after the Fall. Two
! got a house as i took over in tie village
| ashore yonder, near to wherc the little
girls buried. The dog an I want to bc
near Maggie, an II yerH come down off
an on, wen be glad ter see yer,
for it amt much company we'll be
| havn'."
! Well, Uncle Jake took the house
and did go down there as often IS /
could.
The blazing logs and the singing kettle
seemed particularly CHEEKY one January
night. A fierce wind was bowling
| around the house. 1t had been showing
all day. hut as 1t grow colder the snow
had stopped, and now theguStS sent icy
PARTICLES rattling against the window
| puacs.
The dog seemed sleeping peacefully
Mt least lie hadn't stirred-when Uncle
Jake went to the hearth to lift up the
! kettle. The old man had brcwcd q
punch. and was just raising the glass to
his lips, when suddenly Samson sprang
! toward one OF the windows with a fur
ious bark. As turned in the direction
in which he sprang / saw what might
have b en an Illusion, II vanished so
! quickly mans face, pale, haggard and
driven, pressed against the pane. A
moment later the dog was Icaping
| against the door. / Sprang toward il
and threw il open, letting out the dog,
who remained outside barking and howl
ing for half an hour after / had closed
the door.
/ told Uncle Jake that thought a
man had been out there, but all he said
was: Il guess it's ono o them tramps
as comes around Samson amt particu-
| lar fond OF 'cm. But II the fellow was
cold and wanted drink why didn't he
knock an ask for 1t decent-likc! Sure
he'd ha got it
The next morning was bright and
clear and very cold. As the wind
had subsidod, Uncle Jake proposed 10
go over To the grave-y@rd-he hardly
let day pass without going there.
| The graveyard was 4 little enclosure
! a trifle further out of the village than
our house. AS we entered tive gate
| the dog suddenly dartcd forward
barking furiously as he had tho night
before. Following him hastily 'yc saw
what he was barking at. thin, white
hand had clasped the hcadstorc, and
over the grave lay, face downwa, DIS, the
body OF a man.
Uncle Jake grasped me and held
me back moment. Then we tried 10
loose the hand. But il was clasped SO
firmly that we could hardly draw il
from the stone. At last il fell, and
we turned the body over. l saw the
same pale, hagGard, driven face that
was pressed against the window the
night before.
Mister" said Uncle Jake solemnly
! "he's come back. An'-an'-I think I've
forgiven him, as the little girl asked INC
for to do"
The Cay. Of Wa and paara